


Rescue Mission

by wendymr



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Gen, Humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-12 16:02:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2116068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymr/pseuds/wendymr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Card-carrying arachnophobe in urgent need of rescue</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rescue Mission

**Author's Note:**

  * For [babyklingon (asparagusmama)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asparagusmama/gifts).



_Card-carrying arachnophobe in urgent need of rescue_

Robbie laughs aloud at the text that’s just arrived. He abandons breakfast preparations and, one finger at a time, he carefully types out his reply:

_Calling the police over a bloody spider? Home Office wasting our money on all those public service announcements, I see_

The reply arrives mere seconds later. _Would point out that I didn’t call 999, SIR. I texted you. And this is an emergency, actually_

He’s already in the car, about to start the engine, when Robbie sends back _How do you reckon that, then?_

His phone beeps again a couple of times as he pulls out into traffic, but he ignores it until he’s stopped at traffic lights, and then he takes a quick look. _Will be homeless in two minutes unless spider is evicted from premises._

_HUGE spider_ , states another text.

Traffic’s light this early on a Sunday morning, so he makes it to James’s flat in less than ten minutes. Once he’s parked, he types out, _Can you make it to the front door, or is the spider holding you hostage?_

_Trapped_ , comes the reply. Robbie grins, digs out the key James gave him a couple of years back, and lets himself in. “Oi! Christopher Lee! Where are you?”

“Eh?” James’s voice is faint, coming from somewhere beyond the open-plan kitchen and living-room. 

Robbie follows the voice and finds himself by the bathroom door, which is ajar. “You in here?” 

“Me and the spider, yes.”

“Oi, you’ve got to be in a bad way if you’re forgetting your grammar.” Robbie pushes open the door. James is standing in the shower, door wide open, with a small towel barely clinging to his hips. By the state of his hair — dry, and standing on end — he’s been there for some time. 

And, on the white tiled floor, a couple of feet at most away from James, is a spider. It’s black, has eight legs... and is no bigger than Robbie’s index fingernail.

He turns back to James, still standing in the shower, looking distinctly embarrassed. And then at the phone in the lad’s hand.

“All right, I’ll save you from the nasty, vicious spider,” he drawls, tongue definitely in cheek. “Just explain one thing to me first.”

“What?”

“You surely didn’t have your phone in the shower with you?”

“No.” James’s face turns pink. “It was on the countertop.” He gestures towards the sink, which is just about within reach, especially for someone with arms as long as James’s. 

Robbie’s grin widens. “I won’t ask why you needed it in the bathroom.” He turns his attention back to the spider, which hasn’t moved. “Do you care how I get rid of it? Alive or dead?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees James shudder. “I just want it gone.”

Robbie picks it up with toilet paper, then flushes it down the loo. “There you are. Safe at last.”

“My hero.” James’s tone is dry, but Robbie hears the relief all the same.

“Get on with you.” He retreats to the door, pausing briefly to throw James a larger towel. “Just get yourself dressed before you freeze.”

* * *

In the kitchen, Robbie puts the kettle on before it occurs to him that James probably expects him to leave; he’s done what he came for and he wasn’t invited to stay. But sod it; the least the bloke can do is give him a cup of tea, since he’s missed his breakfast to come and rescue Hathaway from his tormentor.

James appears just as the kettle’s boiling. He’s dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, and his hair is slightly less spiky than it was. “Oh, good, you’re still here, sir. I... it occurred to me that I should have told you to make yourself at home.”

“That’s all right,” Robbie says kindly. “You were still suffering from spider-induced trauma.”

“I absolutely was.” James shudders again. He starts to make coffee, in his cafetiere thing rather than the instant Robbie would have gone for, then pauses and turns to face Robbie. “Christopher Lee?”

Robbie grins. “Famous arachnophobe, apparently. Read it on the back of a cornflake box,” he adds, grin widening as James raises a questioning eyebrow.

“I take comfort in knowing I’m not alone in my frailty,” James says dryly as he turns to the fridge. “Have you had breakfast, sir?”

“Was just about to when I got your emergency summons,” Robbie informs him. “Me toast’ll be good for nothing but using as a Frisbee by the time I get home.”

“Would bacon and eggs be an adequate substitute?” James places ingredients on the counter, passes Robbie a mug of coffee, and then arranges slices of bacon under the grill before producing a frying pan, all with efficient movements that suggest the skill of an experienced cook rather than someone whose diet relies on microwaveable meals.

“Fried bread?” Robbie suggests hopefully.

James raises an eyebrow. “I’m not sure your daughter would approve, sir.”

“Not sure she’d approve of bacon and eggs. If there’s a chance I’ll get lectured anyway, might as well go the whole hog.” He takes a sip of coffee and savours the taste; it’s definitely nicer than instant. “Tell you what: throw in a couple of fried tomatoes an’ we can say I had vegetables.”

Shaking his head and barely managing not to laugh, James returns to the fridge for tomatoes.

* * *

“That was bloody good, man. Thanks.” An empty plate in front of him, Robbie smiles kindly at his sergeant. “An’ since you did the fried bread, I’ll not mention this morning to anyone at work. Not even to Laura.”

“You wouldn’t anyway.” James has the decency to blush, and so he should; that spider was _tiny_ , and should have been more scared of a big, tall bloke like James than the other way around. Mind, a phobia’s a phobia; he remembers Morse and his fear of heights.

“Nah, I wouldn’t. Well, Laura, maybe, but since you’ve just made me the best breakfast I’ve had in years...” He accepts another refill of coffee. “Any time you need rescuing from tiny insects, I’m at your disposal.”

“Actually,” James points out in his lecturing tone, “spiders are not insects.”

“What are they, then?”

“Officially, arachnids.” James shudders visibly. “I prefer to call them unspeakable monsters from the blackest depths of hell.”

“All right, then.” Robbie’s lips twitch. “But what I don’t understand is how you’ve managed before. This can’t be the first time you’ve had a spider in the flat, surely?”

“The first time one’s attacked me when I was getting out of the shower.” James’s face is a picture of remembered horror. “On the few previous occasions one has dared to invade, I’ve had something in my hand or within reach with which to defend myself.”

Robbie tries to imagine James defending himself with a loofah and fails miserably. He tries to prevent himself laughing himself silly at the thought and also fails miserably. 

“That’s not nice, sir.” James is trying to sound upset, but he’s failing miserably too. Seconds later, he bursts out laughing as well.

“Come on.” Robbie stands and cuffs James lightly on the shoulder. “I need to go shopping an’ I’m guessing you do too. Play your cards right and I’ll even buy you your own toy spider. Imagine it dangling from the ceiling...”

“Bastard.” James tries to glare, but ends up smirking. “Just for that, next time you come for breakfast I’m serving you muesli!”

* * *


End file.
